All in a Day's Work
by Evenmoor
Summary: Evan Lorne's time with the Stargate Program has been a long series of adventures and misadventures. Sometimes exciting, sometimes frustrating, and always mind-boggling when he stopped to think about it. This series of one-shots fills in some of the blanks for the man who would one day serve as surrogate whumpage for Sheppard in the Pegasus Galaxy.
1. The Beginning in the End

**A/N: **Most of the chapters here originated in my other work, "Conversations & Observations," though they have been heavily edited, revised, and expanded since then. They have also now been placed in handy and convenient chronological order, for your reading pleasure! Huzzah!

First off, the disclaimer: I do not own the _Stargate_ franchise or any of its characters, obviously. I make no money from this series of stories, and they are written solely for the entertainment of myself and my readers.

This series includes missing scenes, episode tags, and original adventures starring Major Lorne. Most of the named characters throughout appeared on _Atlantis_ and/or _SG-1_, even the minor roles. Several characters and a _lot_ of back story (especially for Lorne) are original, but I do my best not contradict canon. So anyone looking for non-canon romantic relationships between major characters will likely be disappointed. (I'm terrible at writing romance, anyway, so you're probably being saved from a lot of bleeding eyeballs and brain bleach!)

Finally, I would like to dedicate this work to the amazing **ladygris**, who is a big fan of Lorne and has written numerous excellent works starring him. I would never have written so much if it hadn't been for her support and consistent feedback on "Conversations & Observations." Thank you very, very much, and I wish you all the best.

I hope you enjoy "All in a Day's Work." And if you're feeling nostalgic, don't hesitate to go back and rewatch your _Atlantis_ DVDs!

And, dare I say it, what better place to start than at _The Beginning in the End_?

* * *

It was a beautiful day in San Francisco.

Across the Bay, eight hundred thousand people were going about their daily lives, and none of them knew...

Their lives had quietly but irrevocably changed over the last decade, and not one of them were really conscious of it. If they knew the truth, there would be panic and rioting and Heaven only knows what.

They also didn't know about the invisible city that floated on the waves within a stone's throw of the Golden Gate: Atlantis, the Lost City of the Ancients, returned to Earth after millions of years, like the end of a fairy tale.

Yet there was a definite undercurrent of tension and uncertainty in this seeming-happy ending. Everyone in the city knew that the future of the Atlantis Expedition was up in the air at the moment. The city was stuck on Earth at least for the time being. The minor structural damage the city had suffered during its less-than-smooth landing following the battle with the Wraith super-hive was nothing compared to the inevitable political entanglement that mired them here.

Major Evan Lorne of the United States Air Force understood, intellectually speaking, why the IOA didn't want to let them go back to Pegasus - as far as they were concerned, why let the most advanced (and totally irreplaceable) technology the human race possessed go back to another (extremely dangerous) galaxy when they could keep it safely within arm's reach?

Were they to ask _his_ opinion (something that would never actually happen), he'd point out that they had a responsibility to the people of Pegasus, one Richard Woolsey himself had made quite clear when he thrust the Expedition into the middle of galactic politics. Plus there was the minor little detail that they were indirectly responsible for significant devastation and loss of life throughout Pegasus, no matter how unintentional.

Michael and the Hoffan plague, the Replicator's genocidal campaign against the human populations, even waking up the Wraith in the first place five years ago - each could be traced back to the Expedition in one form or another. Meanwhile, here they were, twiddling their thumbs and enjoying all the comforts of home (and more). The frustration was overwhelming.

Whatever was going to happen, of course, was well above his pay grade.

With a deep, heartfelt sigh, Evan released the tension from his body and leaned against the balcony railing. He gazed past the city's spires, across the rippling waters, to one of the most familiar sights from his childhood. Though, to be sure, he normally saw the Golden Gate Bridge from land, as opposed to an invisible city floating on the water just outside San Francisco Bay. It was a little bit eerie, he admitted to himself, to have his past and present come together in such a way. He could almost imagine that his mom and dad were somewhere over there, staring right through him.

Six-plus years with the Stargate Program totally skewed a guy's perception of 'normal.' His life, Evan thought wryly, could very easily have been story from the pen of a science fiction writer at 2 a.m. after consuming copious amounts of cola, ten cups of coffee, and possibly a couple joints.

He worked in a city that could fly through space, and wrangled scientists who thought that accidentally blowing up a solar system was a slight miscalculation (_cough-Rodney-cough_). Here, they talked about fighting life-sucking alien vampires with deadly seriousness, traveled to other planets on a regular basis, encountered versions of themselves from alternate realities/timelines, and discussed the practical problems of time travel. It was, to put in plainly, a pretty ridiculous life.

If he'd told himself ten years ago that this was what his life would be like, his younger self would probably have called the nice men in white coats to take him some place he couldn't do himself an injury.

_On the other hand..._

Evan contemplated the Bridge, the sun glinting off the windshields of mid-afternoon traffic crossing the Bay. The people here on Atlantis, despite the craziness that existed all around them, lived, and loved, and lost, much the same as anyone else. There were rough days at the office, and personal triumphs, friendships made and broken, pranks pulled and missions accomplished.

The only difference was that everything in the Stargate Program was just a bit... bigger.

With a chuckle, Evan headed back to his room to grab his easel and paints. The view was practically begging to be captured, after all. Might as well oblige.


	2. The Red Flowers of Remembrance

**Setting: **Set approximately twenty-five years before the first season of _Stargate Atlantis_, and about seventeen years or so before Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson, and their team went through the Gate to Abydos during the events of the _Stargate_ movie.

**A/N: **This story was originally written to celebrate Veterans Day, also known as Remembrance Day in the British Commonwealth. Celebrated on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, it commemorates the signing of the Armistice that ended World War I and has since evolved into a day to recognize and acknowledge the sacrifice made by veterans of all wars.

I also wanted to try my hand at writing Lorne as a child - kidfics are not my usual cup of tea, and I'm not entirely sure how well it came out, but there it is.

* * *

Seven-year-old Evan Lorne stared in awe at the table covered with little flowers of a shade of red even brighter than a fire truck.

"Here, Evan," his grandfather said, taking one of the flowers and pinning it to the boy's shirt. He had already pinned one of the bright little flowers to his own lapel. "They're called poppies," Grandpa explained. "We wear them so that we remember, a long time ago, there was a war. A great and terrible war that covered the entire world."

"Were you there?" Evan asked curiously as he fingered the crimson flower on his shirt.

"Oh, yes. I was there. I was really little at the time. Just about your age, actually. But my father, your great-grandfather, he fought in the Great War."

He smiled, but he seemed strangely sad to the boy. He led Evan to a nearby bench and sat down, his hands gently holding Evan's. "President Wilson called it 'the war to end all wars.' It was so big that everyone thought that no one would ever fight again once it was over. And many folks like my dad went far, far away to fight, to protect our freedom. I still have every one of the letters he sent to my mother and me from overseas - if you want, I'll let you read them sometime."

His grandfather closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped slightly. "Don't be sad, Grandpa," Evan begged with all the honest reassurance a child could offer.

"It's alright, Evan," his grandfather told him, but there were tears on his cheeks. Evan had never known his grandfather to cry. "It's been a very long time since I've talked about my dad, and the truth is I can barely remember him at all."

"Why?" frowned Evan, trying and failing to imagine how someone could forget his own father.

"Because he died in the War, and went to Heaven. It was a very, very long time ago, and all I have left are his letters and a few photographs. But if I try really hard, I can still remember," a slow, wistful smile crossed his face, "one time he came into my room and sat next to my bed and said the night-night prayer."

"The same one Mom and Dad say when I go to bed?"

"The same one," his grandfather nodded. "And after my dad left, my mother came to my room every single night and said the night-night prayer. She told me that my father, wherever he was, no matter how far away... he was saying it with her."

"I think your mommy was really smart," Evan replied sagely. "'Cause _my _mommy says the same thing whenever Dad goes away."

Evan's grandfather ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, and your mommy is a smart lady, too, Evan," he laughed as his grandson hopped off the bench and grabbed his hand.

"Can you show me the pictures of your dad when we get home, Grandpa?" he asked. "That way I can help you remember him."

His grandfather seemed surprised for a moment, but he leaned over and hugged Evan tightly. "Of course I'll show you, Evan," he replied, wiping away the moisture in his eyes.

~o0o~

_They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:  
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.  
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,  
We will remember them._

-Laurence Binyon


	3. The Joys of Home Cooking

**Setting**: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 4.06, "Window of Opportunity." Back at the SGC, Jack O'Neill and Teal'c try to deal with the fact that they're stuck in a time loop. Of course, the rest of the planet is stuck in the same day, too. What does this mean for people like Evan Lorne?

This is long before Lorne joined the SGC; at this point, he's just a normal, upstanding young officer in the United States Air Force, coming home on a few days' leave.

* * *

Evan lay down on the couch with a grunt, one arm across his furiously churning stomach.

"Evan, are you alright?" his mother asked solicitously as she leaned over the back of the couch. "Do you want some chamomile tea?"

"No, Mom, but I could really use some Pepto-Bismol," he groaned as he adjusted his position to better elevate his head.

"I could have told you that eating all that stuff would give you indigestion," his sister teased as she came in from the yard. "How many Mountain Dews did you have, anyway?"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Evan griped, glaring at his sister in annoyance. "I come back for a few days, and all I get is grief. Please, just get me the pink stuff and leave me to my gastrointestinal misery."

His mother smiled affectionately. "I'll be right back, Evan."

"Did you know that exercising with a full stomach can exacerbate indigestion?" his sister offered him helpfully. "Also, food and drink with high acid or caffeine content don't help much, either. And stress, now that's an important factor, too."

"Oh, now you say something," he retorted. "You couldn't have mentioned this earlier, could you?"

She shrugged noncommittally, patting him on the shoulder. "How was I to know that you'd drink all those sodas? Or that you'd be more than a _little_ overindulgent on Mom's homemade tomato soup?"

"When you've been eating cafeteria food for months on end, then you'll understand." Evan winced as his gastrointestinal tract threatened to do an entire Olympic gymnastics routine in his abdominal cavity.

"Evan, I'm pregnant. Let me tell you, I know all I need to know about food cravings."

His mother finally returned, Pepto-Bismol and medicine cup in hand. "I'll get you some tea, too, Evan. You'll feel much better, and it'll wash down that chalky taste."

Evan gratefully reached out to take the medicine and-

...

He knocked on the front door to his parents' home. Even though it was still early, he knew they'd be up and around. He could still picture them in their long-established morning routine: Dad nursing an aromatic cup of tea while griping over whatever was in the newspaper, Mom affectionately ignoring his complaints while preparing breakfast. Today, he smelled the familiar scent of blueberry flax pancakes, and his stomach growled threateningly.

The door opened, and he all but threw himself at his mother, wrapping his arms around her in a tight embrace.

"Evan!" she squeaked in surprise, her face half-buried in his shoulder. "We weren't expecting you until later!"

"Yeah, I caught an earlier flight. Are those your blueberry flax pancakes? Please tell me you and Dad haven't eaten them all yet!" he said as he grabbed his bags from the porch and moved them into the entryway.

"Of course we haven't eaten them all, Evan," his mother scolded him lovingly.

"Is that Evan at the door?" His father's voice drifted in from the kitchen.

His mom laughed. "Who else would it be at this time of the morning, dear?"

"No one but your mother, of course, dear," was the crisp, lighthearted reply. His dad came out to the hall with a wide grin dancing across his face. He shook hands with his son. "It's good to see you, Evan. I'll take your bags to your room while you stuff yourself on your mom's pancakes. I know you want to. Might as well be written on your face in Sharpie!"

Evan chuckled ruefully. "Thanks, Dad." He was starving, actually. He hadn't had a decent meal for over twelve hours, and those pancakes smelled delicious. He followed his mom into the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools at the counter as she poured some fresh batter onto the griddle.

"Your sister's bringing her husband around later, and I'll be making my world-famous, all-natural organic tomato soup," his mom smiled cheerfully.

"You have no idea how much I have been craving that, Mom," Evan fervently assured her. "Especially after Air Force food for who knows how long, it sounds like a little bit of heaven."

"You certainly know how to flatter a girl, Evan," she laughed. "Tell me, why aren't you bringing a girlfriend home with you?"

Evan rolled his eyes. They'd had this conversation before. "You know the answer to that question, Mom, and I'd much rather eat blueberry flax pancakes than go over old ground with you!"

"He's right, dear," said his dad as he re-entered the kitchen and sat down in front of his own plate of half-eaten breakfast. "But, Evan, we do want grandkids outta you _someday_," he joked, cutting a piece of pancake.

"_Not_ the support I had in mind, Dad," Evan drawled, sliding into the seat across from him. "You two just want to spoil the hypothetical grandkids rotten, anyway."

"Darn tootin'!" his mother replied as she flipped the pancakes. "What else are grandparents for, anyway?"

Ten hours (and a more than hearty family reunion dinner) later, Evan was _definitely_ regretting his overindulgence. It turned out that, while delicious, consuming so much food in such a short period of time almost violently disagreed with his digestive process. He lay down on the couch with a grunt, one arm across his stomach, which angrily protested the abuse. While his mom went to grab a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, his sister did what sisters often do under such circumstances: tease their brothers relentlessly.

"When you've been eating cafeteria food for months on end, then you'll understand," Evan winced.

"Evan, I'm pregnant. Let me tell you, I know all I need to know about food cravings," his sister instantly retorted.

His mother finally returned with the Pepto-Bismol. "I'll get you some tea, too, Evan. You'll feel much better, and it'll wash down that chalky taste."

Evan gratefully reached out to take the medicine and-

...

He knocked on the front door to his parents' home. Even though it was still early, he knew they'd be up and around...


	4. Close Encounters

**Setting**: Following _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.05, "Nightwalkers." During that episode, SG-1 discovered small town that was being controlled by immature Goa'uld symbiotes during the night as part of a reckless NID operation to get their hands on Goa'uld technology. The operation was compromised when one of the NID agents was infested by a symbiote. The Goa'uld nearly escaped from the town, and would have quickly infiltrated the government, if not for quick thinking and action on the part of Sam Carter. (For reference, Lorne's first appearance in _Stargate_ comes in episode 7.07, "Enemy Mine.") I find it entirely possible that one or two of the Goa'uld could have slipped their net...

* * *

Evan sat down at the counter, eager for a breakfast that didn't consist of cafeteria food at Nellis. (Admittedly, Nellis's food wasn't as bad as all that, but it was still _cafeteria food_.) This diner had been the discovery of a lifetime: not only were the pancakes as good as any he'd had short of his mom's, the rest of the menu was nothing to sneer at. Plus, they took 'service with a smile' as more than just a catchy motto.

"What can I get for you today, Evan?" asked Rachel. The middle-aged but still fairly attractive woman was right at home behind the counter. She had three kids, the oldest nearing college age, and her husband was an overworked, underpaid CPA who worked down the street. She reminded him a bit of his sister, and in all the right ways.

"Let's be different this morning and go with a ham and cheese omelet with a side of hash browns and sausage." He favored her with a winning smile, which she returned with equal grace.

"Coming right up, flyboy!" she laughed, disappearing into the kitchen.

It was too early for the big breakfast rush crowds; there were only two other patrons, both regulars Evan knew by sight, if not by name: a slender, dark-haired young woman (he thought she might be a student at UNLV) and a pudgy retiree wearing his usual uniform of khaki shorts and a garish polo. Then Evan spotted a third man, a stranger, in the corner booth, sitting stiffly and eating mechanically, as if half-asleep. This was Vegas, after all, so it wasn't as if strangers were unusual... but there was something about him that just didn't seem right with Evan.

The man was wearing a black suit and tie that wouldn't have been out-of-place on a federal agent, but his clothes were rumpled and dirty, as if he'd been wearing them for days.

Then Evan realized that the man was staring at him. Not at his face, but at his Air Force uniform, and with an expression that was equal parts cold calculation and utter disdain.

Evan frowned, eying the man warily. Then the stranger looked up, locking gazes with him. As the little hairs on the back of Evan's neck stood up on end, he realized something was _definitely_ wrong here.

Chuckles stood, not taking his eyes off Evan, who wondered in alarm what was going on. Who was this guy, and what was his problem? Just then, the door to the diner swung open, the bell jangling noisily.

"Stop right there," an authoritative voice ordered. Chuckles froze and turned towards its source: three _more _black-suited men stood in the doorway, guns drawn and at the ready, and all pointed at Chuckles. "Put your hands on your head _slowly_ and get down on your knees," commanded their leader, a man who looked like he'd stepped out of some federal agent mold in a dark basement in D.C.

Evan saw Chuckles tense a moment before he sprang. The Men in Black weren't so lucky; he charged them with superhuman speed. Only two managed to get shots off before he reached them, but their bullets didn't seem to slow him at all. He sent the leader flying through the air to crumple against the wall as the two stunned regulars dove for cover. Chuckles pummeled the other two Men in Black with all the bone-crushing savagery of a linebacker hopped up on PCP, smashing both men to the ground.

He had to act - Chuckles was distracted, turned away from him. Evan grabbed the opportunity to catch him in a sleeper hold, wrapping his arm around the attacker's neck. Chuckles flailed, but even the strongest man couldn't fight for long without oxygen. It ended in seconds with him slumping to the floor, unconscious.

The entire confrontation occurred in less than a minute.

"What's going on here?" Rachel demanded, coming out of the kitchen. "I'm calling the cops- Oh, my God!" She saw the pile of men on the floor, Evan kneeling over them to check their vitals. "What happened, Evan?"

"Well," he said, standing up and dusting his hands, "This guy here just beat the crap out of the other three, who I'm _pretty_ sure're here to take him into custody."

"Don't... call the cops. My... people... will handle this. And stay... away... from him," groaned the leader of the Men in Black, who was slowly climbing to his feet. "He's... very dangerous."

"And unconscious," Evan pointed out, casting a wary eye at the incapacitated Chuckles.

"He won't stay that way for long. You don't know how lucky you were. Who're you?" the other man asked, wincing in pain but recovering quickly. Now that Evan had a chance to get a good look at him, the fellow seemed younger than Evan had thought, probably only in his early to mid-thirties, with short brown hair and light-colored eyes.

"Captain Evan Lorne, United States Air Force. Who're you?" demanded Evan. Fair is fair.

"Agent Malcolm Barrett, NID. And I _told_ Hammond that they didn't need to send anyone down here. The situation is under control." Barrett glared in annoyance as he quickly cuffed and secured Chuckles and began to check over his unconscious comrades, who looked worse off than they probably were.

"With all due respect, Agent Barrett, 'under control' isn't exactly the term I'd use to describe what happened here." Evan wondered, for the second time, what he had stepped into. This was getting more like _Men in Black_ by the second. And what the hell was the NID, anyway? That was one alphabet soup agency he'd never heard of. "And, to be perfectly honest, I have no idea Hammond is. I just came in here for breakfast when Chuckles here decided he didn't like the way I looked."

Barrett did a sudden double-take, palpable embarrassment flushing his freckled face. "You're from Nellis, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I'm from Nellis. Where'd you think I be from?" asked Evan waspishly, though he was, quite frankly, curious.

"Never mind," Barrett replied all too quickly. "Thank you for your assistance, Captain Lorne." Barrett looked up at Rachel and the two patrons, who stared back at him in shock at the bizarre chain of events that had just unfolded. "Nothing to see here, folks. I suggest you finish your breakfast and let us do our jobs."

By now, the two other Men in Black began to stir, wincing and moaning quietly as the pain from the injuries registered; one made the mistake of touching his nose, which was clearly broken, and the other stared dazedly up with an unfocused gaze. Barrett pulled a cell phone from his jacket and hit a few numbers. "We got him. Send another unit to my location to assist with extraction. Have medics standing by for injuries," he said quietly.

Within ten minutes, everything was cleared up, and there was no sign that anything strange or unusual had happened in the diner. Evan wouldn't be surprised if there would be denials all around, too.

It had that Roswell feel to it.


	5. An Exciting New Career Opportunity

**Setting:** At least three months to the end of _Stargate: SG-1_ season 6.

* * *

There are some things in life that all the years of officer's training, combined with experience that earns you the rank of major in the United States Air Force, cannot prepare you for. Most people would immediately think 'falling in love' is one of these things.

They'd be right, but another one is discovering exactly what 'exciting new career opportunity' you had been nominated for, by whom no one really knows (or is willing to admit, at least). Such was the case with recently promoted Major Evan Lorne when he was told to report to the Pentagon for an interview with one Major Paul Davis. According to his orders, Davis was a 'Pentagon liaison officer,' though no one would say_ for what_ he was a liaison.

As soon as he walked through the door, Evan realized he actually knew Davis, at least slightly. Davis had been a year ahead of him at the Air Force Academy; he had always struck him as taking everything far too seriously, treating every responsibility like a vital black-ops mission to protect national security. While this made Davis utterly reliable and trustworthy, it also made him come off like total real stick in the mud (and sometimes treading towards downright annoying) to almost everyone else, including Evan.

It wasn't as if Evan didn't take his job seriously, of course, but if he tried to act like Davis did, he'd probably blow a blood vessel from the stress.

Evan hadn't heard from Davis since graduation, but it totally figured that he'd get a job being the go-between for the Pentagon and some top-secret operation. What had Davis gotten into? And what was he trying to drag Evan into? And, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, _why_?

So, at 0930 on a Monday morning, Evan found himself shaking hands with Davis, who hadn't outwardly changed much, if at all, from his stiff Academy self. A little older, obviously; his hairline maybe receding a tiny bit, and a few new lines of care at his eyes, but he had the same sharp gaze and serious posture. Evan wasn't even a little surprised when Davis passed him a folder stamped 'Top Secret' - it was simply being true to form.

"I know you're probably curious as to the nature of the Program to which you've been recommended," Davis remarked. His blue eyes stared like drills into Evan's head, as if peering into his brain and reading his thoughts. The sensation was more than a little disconcerting.

"Yes, Major," Evan replied neutrally. "And, with all due respect, who recommended me."

Davis offered the barest shadow of a raised eyebrow. "At the moment, you don't have clearance to know how your name came to our attention. I _can_ tell you that anything you learn today, regardless of whether you decide to join the Program or not, is classified Top Secret and is to be repeated to no one without the authorization of the Joint Chiefs." The Pentagon major paused briefly to let that sink in.

Evan frowned slightly; Davis was taking operational security of his 'Program' very seriously. Evan had done 'classified' before, but Davis was really laying it on thick here.

"This Program is strictly voluntary," Davis continued, ignoring any expression Evan's face may have revealed. "I am obligated tell you that it is extremely dangerous. Even routine missions are performed under extremely hostile conditions, and the threat of injury and death is very real. That being said, I think you'd agree that the risks we undertake are well worth the rewards."

"If I may speak frankly?" Evan asked, suppressing a sigh. He couldn't be sure how much of Davis's declaration was personal exaggeration, after all.

Davis spread his hands welcomingly. "Of course, Major Lorne."

"Isn't that just a tiny bit cliché?"

Davis did something then that Evan did not expect: he smiled, and an almost boyish grin at that. It was as if he'd taken off a 'Major Davis' mask, revealing the 'Paul' hiding behind it. "It might be cliché, Major, but in our case, it's absolutely and totally accurate."

He gestured to the folder between them on the desk. "Look it over. I can't stress enough how important this program is to the future of our country. We need good men, like you, to ensure that future. And, if you do decide to join, I can safely say that you'll never see the world in the same way ever again."

Evan was about to think some snarky retort to that characteristically melodramatic statement, but there was a peculiar, distant look in Davis's eyes that stopped him cold. Opening the folder, Evan found a document that seemed to reflect Davis's apparent penchant for melodrama, listing all sorts of doom that would fall on his head should he breach the security of the Program.

What _was_ the Program, anyway? What were the black ops boys up to? Evan was almost surprised as he realized that he felt drawn to the opportunity before him. Curiosity and adventure had always been two of his defining traits, though he had the common sense to temper them. His eyes flickered over the bare black text of the document, trying to work out what they were hiding behind their promises of doom. Davis waited patiently, saying nothing as Evan pondered his decision.

Evan had made such leaps of faith before, deciding whether to go on dangerous, classified missions before hearing all the operational details. There was definitely _something_ about this, though. Evan could feel it in his gut, sense it in the way Davis addressed him. Something special.

He barely glanced up before Major Davis held out a pen, a wry smile on his face. "Welcome to the greatest adventure of them all," he said with an openly boyish expression of glee.


	6. Welcome to Stargate Command

**Setting**: Late season 6 for _Stargate: SG-1_

* * *

This place could not _possibly_ be real.

Evan sat in the mess hall, poking at his food; Davis had warned him that the reality of Stargate Command could be a bit overwhelming. Evan had thought that he was exaggerating in his usual fashion. _Nope, Evan, wrong again!_ Nestled securely below NORAD was another facility, one that defied imagination.

It was as if someone demonstrated that _The Lord of the Rings_ was actually a history book instead of a work of brilliant fiction. He'd never felt this dazed even when pulling multi-G acrobatics in a jet. His entire world had been turned on its head in the space of a few hours.

The United States Air Force was engaging in missions to other planets. Throughout the galaxy. And it had been doing so for almost _six years_. _Six years_ of exploring the galaxy and fighting back against megalomaniacal body-snatching aliens who'd like nothing better than to enslave the planet or bombard it back into the Stone Age.

"All right if I sit here?" asked a youngish man with short sandy-colored hair, wearing standard green BDU pants and a black T-shirt. His tray of food was packed with a sampling of just about everything on today's menu. Glancing about, Evan saw a number of empty tables, so it was probably conversation the newcomer was after. Evan wasn't sure if he could put two words together in a coherent fashion.

"Sure, go ahead," he managed.

"You're new here, aren't you? I'm Jonas Quinn." He extended his hand across the table. Evan shook it firmly, noting the the other man didn't try to turn the greeting into an arm-wrestling competition.

"Major Evan Lorne. I guess it must be pretty obvious that I'm new," Evan remarked wryly. He'd been noticing the SGC personnel's less-than-covert glances that ranged from amusement to pity.

Jonas grinned cheerfully as he slid into the seat across from him. "You do have that sort of dazed look most people get after the ten-cent tour. Don't worry about it. You should've seen _my_ face the first time I saw the Stargate. It was..." he raised his eyebrows expressively, "...a bit overwhelming."

"So, what do _you_ do around here?" Evan asked curiously.

"Me? Oh, I'm a member of SG-1," replied Jonas, swallowing a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "We're at the front lines of exploration and first contact. It's really amazing stuff, Major - you're lucky to be here."

Evan frowned a bit, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not military, though, are you? You don't have the look."

"Me?" Jonas laughed. "Oh, no, no way. I'm just the go-to guy for translating alien languages and other things. I'm a quick study. Of course, having an entire office of reference material helps a lot, too! Any idea what team you're going to be on?" he asked inquisitively around a dinner roll.

"Not sure yet. Honestly, I'm just a pilot. I mean, I've done some classified work before, but this...! Wow."

"You're a pilot, huh?" the sandy-haired man paused briefly, his fork hovering above his pork roast. "Then you're probably going to be joining the 302 squadron they're putting together. If you get a chance, you should talk to Colonel O'Neill or Major Carter. They've got the most hands-on experience with the 302s. Actually, that's them over there."

Jonas gestured with his fork to the pair who just entered the mess hall. One was a moderately tall, grey-haired officer with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy blue BDUs, and his companion was a blonde woman probably a few years Evan's senior. (Her BDUs were definitely _not_ baggy, Evan noted appreciatively.) They seemed to be arguing - or, more accurately, Major Carter seemed to be expounding on something very complicated and technical while the colonel's face went from blank confusion to impatience.

"Carter!" O'Neill held up a hand to forestall anything more on her part. "Bottom line?"

The blonde looked back at her team leader sheepishly. Evan couldn't hear her reply over the clatter and murmur of the other diners, but whatever it was didn't make O'Neill happy, because the both of them turned and walked back out the way they came.

"Guess it wasn't a good time," Jonas noted wryly. "Anyway, if you do go into the 302 program, you probably won't be spending much time around _here_."

"And I don't even know how I ended up here in the _first_ place!" Evan remarked.

Jonas shrugged noncommittally. "Honestly, that's one question to which I really don't know the answer. I got here under rather special circumstances, myself, so I'm no help to you there. Don't worry! Once you get used to the idea of using an ancient alien artifact to travel to other world through a wormhole, everything else just kinda... falls into place," he said reassuringly. "Some things are still weird, even to the rest of us, too, so don't let them give you too hard a time."

"Anything in particular you'd care to share?" asked Evan curiously, leaning forward in his chair.

Jonas thought a moment, then grinned broadly. "Well, just after I joined SG-1, this Goa'uld mothership showed up in orbit and just sat there. No attack, no communication, it was just kinda... sitting there. So, we called up our friends the Tok'ra, and Jacob - that's Major Carter's dad - he came to help us out with a cargo ship so we could get up to the mothership and figure out what was going on. It was my very first time in space, actually. It was amazing! _Any_way, it turns out that the Goa'uld that the ship belonged to had _seriously_ underestimated the brainpower of an Asgard. Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet, he'd been captured by Anubis- anyhow, Thor had actually used his mental connection with the ship while Anubis was interrogating him to move in and make himself at home. Major Davis was actually the first person to realize something was up with the intercom system. You know, it's weird, I don't even know why he was with us, since he usually works at the Pentagon..."

Evan's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Jonas's story had started out confusing, and had gotten progressively stranger (did the man even stop to breathe once?!), but this was just too much. "Major Davis? Not Major _Paul_ Davis?" he said in disbelief. He had a hard time imagining Davis in any setting other than an office. Maybe this was a different Major Davis? It was a pretty common name, after all.

"That's the one!" Jonas nodded brightly, dashing that theory and perplexing Evan even more. "You know, for all his being a paperpusher, Colonel O'Neill seems to like him. Well, he's not a bad guy, in my book, either. He's the one that cleaned up the audio so we could figure out that it was Thor's voice on the intercom. Anyway, I was left on the cargo ship with Teal'c for most of the mission, just us two aliens..."

_Wait. One. Second._ "You're an alien?"

The other man shrugged, a helpless smile dancing across his face. "Well, more or less human, but I wasn't born on Earth any more than Teal'c was, and he really _is_ an alien." Jonas gestured with his fork. "Say, are you going to eat that Jell-O?"


	7. Falling With Style

**Setting:** Prior to _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.22, "Full Circle."

* * *

The snowy landscape slid by beneath him, brilliantly beautiful. Evan had never really thought about Antarctica as beautiful before, but his time training at McMurdo had given him the opportunity to ponder the dazzling landscape.

He was surrounded by incredible formations of ice and rock, shades of greys and browns, whites and subtle blues he never knew existed. Evan's fingers itched to put paint to canvas, but he was forced to satisfy himself with graphite and paper (very poor substitutes as far as he was concerned).

"You awake up there, Major?" Lieutenant Banks's voice crackled in his ear. Evan could hear his CSO's grin in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm here," he replied, checking his instruments. The F-302 was the most amazing aircraft he'd ever flown; relatively compact and ridiculously maneuverable, it was capable of both atmospheric and space flight - something unheard of only a decade ago. Plus, its railguns were far superior to anything else on planet Earth, capable of propelling a slug at a speed of Mach five at a distance of 250 miles, not to mention the complement of specially enhanced AIM 120A air-to-air missiles.

Of course, armaments were all well and good, but what impressed him the most about this aircraft was the inertial dampening system. He barely felt any Gs at all as he pulled into a twist. A 302 pilot could perform utterly ridiculous aerial acrobatics with total ease, leaving other aircraft sputtering in his wake. One of the reasons they were training in Antarctica was so no one could see them sky-hopping like this!

Evan was _definitely_ going to track down whoever recommended him for the Program and buy them a beer sometime, because this was _cool_. Any pilot he knew would kill to get into the cockpit of a 302, and here he was, one of the first to fly it outside of a simulator!

He heard Banks chuckling from his seat in the back of the cockpit. He was barely more than a kid (he made _Evan_ feel old, and that was impressive), and was among those few recruited to the Stargate Program straight from the Academy, though you wouldn't know it to listen to him. He'd been in the air more times than he could count since he was old enough to walk, and had as much confidence as any veteran pilot.

"You feel like you can take anything on with this baby, don't you, Major?" Banks said, reading Evan's thoughts.

"Hell, yeah," grinned Evan, adrenaline pumping through his veins. The high was insane, and he had to work hard to keep it from going to his head... too much, at least. "The simulator is one thing, but flying a bird like this in real life...!"

"You're telling me, Major! I keep telling my brother, people who don't want to fly are crazy!" Banks remarked cheerfully.

"Yeah? And what does your _brother_ think, Banks?"

"Oh, he just smiles and nods and assures me for the hundredth that he's just fine on the ground, thank you very much!" his CSO replied with a laugh. "You want to try something a little more exciting, Major?"

"You're kidding, right?" Evan challenged the cocky man in the back seat as he pulled on the stick.

...

_"Grandpa, tell me the story about Papa Bear again!" little Evan begged as he plopped down on his grandfather's lap._

_His grandfather chuckled indulgently. "What, again? Oh, if you insist, Evan!" _

_He settled into storytelling mode, his eyes alight and sparkling with good cheer. "Once upon a time, there was a great war covering all the world. In the middle of all the fighting, there was a brave and clever pilot called Papa Bear. The bad guys hated him more than any other pilot, because he always knew where to drop his bombs to mess up their plans. One day, the bad guys finally shot down Papa Bear's plane. He managed to jump to safety, but the bad guys captured him. Now the bad guys, they thought they could keep Papa Bear locked up in prison, where he couldn't cause any more trouble for them. But Papa Bear was cleverer than they thought, and every night he and his friends would sneak out of prison-"  
_

Evan shook his head in confusion. Blinking rapidly, he tried to clear his brain of the cobwebs. Distantly, he heard alarms, and someone was yelling in his ear. "Wha...?" he mumbled, completely disoriented. He was sure there was something important he was supposed to be doing.

"EJECT!" he suddenly heard clearly in his ear, the desperate order breaking through the fog.

Years of training drummed into his brain took hold. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled the ejection release.

The doomed F-302 fell away beneath him, exploding in a massive fireball when it collided with the snowy rocks a moment later. Dimly, he realized that he wasn't nearly high enough for the parachute to deploy fully. He was coming down hard.

"_Oh, God_," he had time to think, and then everything went dark.

* * *

**Author's Note: **G-LOC, or _G-force induced Loss Of Consciousness_, has been known to produce brief but vivid dreams. G-LOC is a real and potentially fatal phenomenon, especially at low altitudes, even to trained and experienced pilots. Unfortunately for Lorne, his inertial dampeners failed at a most inconvenient moment.

"CSO" means "Combat Systems Officer." The CSO sits in the rear seat of a two-man fighter jet and is responsible for in-flight operations, navigation, and electronic warfare. Folks familiar with the TV show _JAG_ and _NCIS_ might be more familiar with the term "RIO" ("Radar Intercept Officer," also called a GIB for "Guy In Back"), which serves a similar function with Navy fighters.

Anyone familiar with _Hogan's Heroes_ should find the story of Papa Bear very familiar, indeed!


	8. Broken Bird

**Setting: **Shortly before _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.22, "Full Circle."

* * *

Evan couldn't remember being pulled out of the mangled wreckage of the 302 cockpit. Despite ejecting, the parachutes were unable to deploy in time to do much to arrest the fall, and Evan had paid the price. Fortunately, they hadn't been more than a few miles out of McMurdo when they went down. The rescue helicopters arrived bare minutes after the crash.

Lieutenant Banks, the lucky bastard, had escaped with only a few (admittedly rather nasty) bruises; the front of the cockpit had taken the brunt of the damage from the impact with the rocks. The front of the cockpit, and Evan, that is.

His first memory after the crash was waking up somewhere, feeling as if his entire body had been crushed by a steamroller. He wanted to scream, but the most he could manage was a tiny agonized whimper. There was an abrupt chatter of voices, speaking what might as well have been gibberish. Tears of pain squeezed past his eyelids before everything faded into a muffling darkness.

As soon as he was stable, they'd medevacced him back to the States. He spent the entire long flight in a drugged stupor.

When he finally regained consciousness again, he felt like he was floating and comfortably wrapped in puffy clouds. His body was far away, the pain a distant thing he couldn't quite feel. Blinking lazily, he looked out a nearby window and realized vaguely that he knew where he was. It took him a long while to put a name to the place, but he eventually tagged it as the Air Force Academy Hospital near Colorado Springs.

He hadn't been here in years, he thought muzzily. Not since he needed stitches after getting whacked on the head by that flying beer bottle...

Time was a funny thing in his state. At some point, he thought his parents came by. Maybe? He might have dreamed it. There was a whole procession of doctors and nurses and people he really didn't care about because his brain was made of cotton balls.

Then the pain came back. It was more of a full-body ache, rather than acute agony, but it was definitely unpleasant all the same. Evan grunted softly as he opened his eyes. He coughed weakly - his throat felt as dry as the Sahara after a drought.

"Here, drink this. Careful, now, Major, you don't want to accidentally inhale it." The cool liquid that trickled into his mouth was better than anything he'd ever tasted, despite the fact that he was pretty sure it was just water. The thankful smile he gave the nurse, however, quickly dissolved into a pained grimace.

"Now, Major, I know it hurts right now," she said reassuringly, "but the general wanted to talk to you. He'll be just a few minutes, and then I'll be right back with more painkillers."

As the door opened, the nurse shot stern (and quite possibly disapproving) look at the bald officer who walked in. It took Evan a moment to recognize him: General Hammond, commanding officer of Stargate Command. He'd only met the general a few times while training at the SGC before his deployment to McMurdo, but what he'd seen, he'd liked.

"Don't worry, Nurse, I won't be long," Hammond assured her firmly.

As the nurse left, Evan wished he could at least sit up straighter. Saluting was well beyond his abilities at this point. "_Sir_," he rasped hoarsely.

"Save your strength, Major," General Hammond held up his hand to forestall him doing anything more. "I had them dial down the meds so you could have a clear head for a few minutes."

Evan sighed, closing his eyes briefly as a stand-in for nodding.

"You were in a very serious accident, Major, and while I've been assured that the odds are good that you're going to make a complete recovery, you'll be out of the 302 program, for a while, at least." _Possibly permanently,_ he left unsaid.

Evan inhaled sharply before releasing it in a long, shuddering breath as he fought off a wave of uncharacteristic bitterness.

It made sense. It was to be expected.

Despite all the technological advances that went into the F-302s, piloting those babies was physically and mentally challenging. Even with what little he'd assessed of his injuries so far, he was neither too proud nor too stupid to admit that he probably wouldn't be in any shape to fly for a while. They couldn't save his spot in a coveted program while he took months, if not longer, to recover from his injuries.

Hammond smiled sympathetically. "I've been where you are now, so believe me when I say that I know how you feel, Major. I know this is a setback for you, but I'd like you to consider an alternative."

Evan's eyes narrowed curiously as he wondered what the general thought would interest a grounded fighter jock.

"You have a background in geology, Major, and you might be surprised to hear that we actually have a need for someone with your expertise." No doubt the general picked up that little tidbit by reading Evan's file; some generals apparently enjoyed the light reading that accompanied reviewing potential personnel additions, though Evan suspected that his own file was pretty bland compared to some. Geology had always been something of a hobby to him, though a hobby he'd nearly made a career of. (Probably would have been safer, in retrospect.)

"SG-11 under Colonel Edwards is tasked with geological surveying to locate sources of the mineral naquadah," General Hammond continued. "It's essential that we find and extract as much of the mineral as possible so we can build ships to protect Earth from the Goa'uld and other potential threats. We need as many eyes on this as we can, but as I'm sure you're aware, operational security is an issue here. And most of your duties would be light and not tax your recovery too much."

A geological survey expedition didn't exactly strike Evan as particularly exciting (one of the reasons he decided to become a fighter pilot rather than a geologist). On the other hand, he weighed, it meant the chance to step through the Stargate and actually visit _another planet_. Plus, it would keep him in the Stargate Program; he might even be able to get back to flying 302s at some point. And he'd be able to do some good, too, helping to find that magic rock that powered pretty much everything the SGC needed.

"Think about it, Major. Obviously, you'll need to get back on your feet and be cleared by Doctor Fraiser before you go off-world, but I'm sure you'll do just fine," General Hammond smiled paternally. On another man, Evan thought, the expression might come across as patronizing, but not him. Hammond was as honest and straight-forward as they come. He meant every word he said.

Even before the nurse came back to restore that wonderful floaty feeling, Evan realized that he had already decided that he would take Hammond up on his offer.

Who knows? Maybe the naquadah they found would go into his next F-302.


	9. View from the Gallery

**Setting: **During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 6.22, "Full Circle." Daniel Jackson, having ascended to join the Ancients at the start of season 6, visits Jack O'Neill at the SGC to give him a very important (and apparently urgent!) mission to locate the Eye of Ra on Abydos. Jack is understandably annoyed that his friend, who is a great and powerful being, can't actually do anything to help them. And when Daniel does try to intervene, Oma steps in to stop him. Nothing is known about his fate for two months.

* * *

As soon as Evan was coherent enough to make the request, he asked to be moved to the infirmary at the SGC. Not, of course, because he enjoyed windowless rooms more than twenty floors underground, but because it would make his studying much easier.

He couldn't expect to ask for geological surveys of other planets, or a detailed mineralogical analysis of naquadah, to be delivered to his room at the Air Force Academy Hospital, after all. And if he was going to go on a exoplanetary survey mission, he was going to be damned sure that he knew what he was looking for. (Plus, to be honest, his geology was a little rusty. He'd spent the last dozen or so years flying thousands of feet _above_ the rocks, after all.)

And from his semi-permanent posting in his bed, he got a rather unusual, and definitely enlightening, perspective on the SGC.

He got a first-hand view of many of the SG teams getting medical check-ups after returning from missions, and it wasn't always pretty. One time, a team stumbled in soaking wet, half-carrying a guy who had a grotesque, pulsating giant leech attached to his leg. The man in question was pasty white and looked about two seconds from losing his head and screaming his lungs out, or simply fainting.

_Yes, join the SGC! Visit distant planets! Meet indigenous people and discover exotic wildlife!  
_

Clearly, fun times.

Of course, there was the normal procession of headaches, cuts, bruises, sprains, broken bones, and alien sex pollen. (That last one made for a truly awkward scene, with the SG team trying to throw themselves on the medical staff while the SFs did their best to hold them down.)

There were, naturally, some regular visitors to the infirmary. One was a SGC's chief Stargate hardware technician, a master sergeant named Siler, who was in twice on Evan's first day. It wasn't that Siler was clumsy - he was just unbelievably unlucky.

After Siler suffered from a nasty electrocution (something to do with a wrench, an open power conduit, and a ditzy scientist, apparently), he was told quite firmly by the totalitarian autocrat in charge (a petite 5'2" redhead named Fraiser who Evan faithfully swore never to cross) that he would be staying overnight for observation.

Late in the day, when most people were going home for the night, another NCO came to visit Siler. Evan remembered him from his brief tour at the SGC: Master Sergeant Walter Harriman. Harriman reminded Evan more than a little of Radar O'Reilly from the old TV show _M*A*S*H_, if Radar were a bit older, balder, and had a sense of humor drier than a June day at Nellis. He'd always been there with some obscure form that no one knew was necessary, or some sort of distraction just when you thought your head was going to explode.

Evan, exhausted and a little bored, was more than happy to sip his water and eavesdrop on their conversation, which seemed to revolve around another man named 'Dr. Jackson.' The name sounded familiar to Evan, but he couldn't quite place it. Was he one of the doctors? Maybe a civilian scientist?

Whoever he was, he'd apparently caused them a lot of trouble recently before abruptly vanishing. Which was, it seemed, just as annoying as it was concerning. All in all, it was a pretty confusing conversation.

As Harriman was leaving, Evan called him back.

"Major Lorne. What can I do for you, sir?" he asked. Somehow, Evan was completely unsurprised that Harriman remembered his name at the drop of a hat.

"Yeah, Sergeant... I don't mean to be rude, but couldn't help but hear you and Sgt. Siler talking about a guy named Jackson, and I was wondering... who is he?"

Harriman didn't seem at all upset by Evan's shameless eavesdropping. "Dr. Jackson? He's... something of a legend around here, sir. He's the guy who figured out the Stargate in two weeks, when the biggest brains at the Pentagon had spent two _years_ on it. Plus, he speaks more than twenty languages and negotiated Earth's entry into the Asgard Protected Planets Treaty," explained the bespectacled sergeant.

"Huh. I didn't meet him when I was here taking the nickel tour. What happened to him?" Evan asked curiously, sipping at his cup of water.

"He died, sir. Last year. We weren't not too worried, though; he's done it before. Personally, a lot of us were sure he'd be back again at some point," Harriman replied with a casual shrug.

Evan inhaled cold water. Sputtering and coughing somewhat violently, he managed to set his cup down on the table without sloshing too much onto his hands and lap.

"You okay, sir?" solicitously inquired Sergeant Harriman, offering him a towel to wipe his hands. He seemed more concerned about Evan's health than the insanity of his previous statement.

"Yeah," Evan hoarsely replied. He finally controlled the spasms, which painfully twinged his still-tender chest. "Yeah, I'm good. Did you say that Dr. Jackson's _died_ before, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir, that's correct," Harriman affirmed. He said it as casually as if he were claiming that Dr. Jackson had merely gone grocery shopping and would be back after lunch.

"Dead. As in..."

"As in _dead_, sir," nodded the sergeant.

Evan stared dubiously at Harriman, trying to decide if the sergeant were pulling his leg in some sort of 'Welcome to Stargate Command' hazing ritual. That sort of thing wasn't exactly uncommon in the armed forces, after all. "Right..."

"People don't always stay dead around here, sir. You get used to it after awhile. We've learned to keep the proper forms on hand, especially when it comes to SG-1. Dr. Jackson himself been killed or presumed dead something like half a dozen times already. And we knew from right off the bat that he didn't stay dead this last time, either."

It was absolutely impossible to tell if the man were joking or not. His expression was completely neutral, so he either had the best poker face Evan had ever seen, or he was indeed serious.

(_Or both_, Evan conceded.)

"How do you know he didn't stay dead?" Part of him couldn't believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. It was, quite frankly, totally ludicrous.

"When he died, Dr. Jackson transformed into a being of energy and ascended to another plane of existence," was Harriman's matter-of-fact explanation.

_Naturally. Of course. That makes total sense, after all. Silly me._

Evan opened and closed his mouth several times as he tried to formulate a reply to that statement. "So..." he finally managed, "you actually believe that one day Dr. Jackson's just going to... walk in the front door?"

"It's... a bit more complicated than that, sir. He already came back once, but he's gone again. There's an unofficial betting pool about where he's going to turn up again. Most money's on that they're going to run into him on another planet," Harriman remarked. "Personally, I'm holding out for the general's office."

* * *

**A/N: **By this point in the series, Daniel's well on his way to establishing his role as the Kenny of _Stargate_. He was killed, nearly killed, and/or presumed dead in: _Stargate_ (the movie), "Fire and Water," "The Nox," "The Serpent's Lair, Part III" "The Light," and "Meridian," at the very least, with an honorable mention for "Crystal Skull". This isn't taking into account the deaths of alternate Daniels in "There But For the Grace of God," "Point of View," or "2010," or that of the alien impostor in "Foothold" or the android duplicate in "Double Jeopardy."

NCO means "non-commissioned officer" - NCOs (also called "non-coms") are the backbone of the armed forces. They supervise, train, and lead other enlisted servicemembers and are important sources of guidance and advice for junior officers.


	10. A Man Is the Sum of His Memories

**Setting**: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.01, "Fallen." Daniel Jackson has been located on the planet Vis Uban, although he is missing his memories after being kicked out of the Oma Desala Fan Club. SG-1 brings Daniel back to the SGC with them while other SG teams search the Ancient ruins in the hopes of finding weapons with which to defeat Anubis. Daniel is given temporary quarters, filled with many personal possessions in the hopes that they might help restore his memory.

* * *

When he heard the door to the gym swing open, Evan grimaced with the knowledge that he'd been caught. Physical therapy was a real pain in the ass and he really wanted to be back on his feet _yesterday_, but he was definitely _not_ supposed to be on the parallel bars unsupervised in the middle of the night. He resignedly maneuvered himself back into the wheelchair, expecting that he was probably about to be forcefully ejected. For his own good, naturally.

The person who entered was not one of the nurses (or worse, _Dr. Fraiser_) come to drag him back to bed, however. The newcomer was a good six feet tall and strongly built, with short brown hair, and bright blue eyes blinking from behind a pair of round glasses. He clutched what seemed to be a picture frame close to his body, though Evan couldn't tell what was in the frame. Trailing behind more like a friendly puppy than a guard was a cheerful (if somewhat bored-looking) SF, who lingered by the door as the man he was escorting wandered further in.

It wasn't hard for Evan to recognize the newcomer, given all the mission reports and documentation that Sgt. Harriman had helpfully provided him during his convalescence. That, and probably the entire base knew within about five minutes that their long-lost archaeologist/linguist/general pain-in-the-ass had once again returned from the dead (though apparently minus his memory).

"Dr. Jackson?" Evan asked with a friendly smile.

"So they tell me," the man replied dryly after a moment of surprise. He probably hadn't expected anyone to be here at this time of night. "Look, if you're looking for a happy reunion, I hate to disappoint you, but I don't remember a thing."

Evan shrugged, wheeling over to him. "You couldn't remember me, anyway, Dr. Jackson. I joined the Program after you, ah, left," he said diplomatically. "I'm Major Evan Lorne, with the SG-11 geological survey team - as soon as I get back on my feet, at least." Evan smiled ruefully as he adjusted his posture in the wheelchair. Hopefully, he'd be ditching the wheels permanently any day now. That would definitely be a relief.

"Nice to meet you, Major." Relief flooded Dr. Jackson's face as he extended his hand, which Evan shook. Dr. Jackson, who was taller than Evan was even when he _wasn't_ stuck in a wheelchair, sat down on a nearby weight bench so he wasn't towering over him (a gesture that Evan appreciated - it was awkward holding a conversation with someone while staring up their nose).

"I can't even begin to tell you how relieved I am to finally meet someone who _doesn't_ know me," Dr. Jackson admitted candidly. "It's, ah, really weird walking around here with everyone telling me how great it is to have me back when I don't even remember being here in the first place!"

"I can imagine! From what I can tell, you're pretty famous around here," agreed Evan as he wiped down his neck and face with a towel. His sweat-dampened T-shirt now clung uncomfortably to his back, but there wasn't anything he could do about that at the moment.

"So I've discovered." The amnesiac archaeologist frowned slightly. He really did look like someone's absent-minded professor. "Jim- no, Jack, _Jack_- he was talking about fighting some crazy aliens, so what's a geologist doing around here?"

"You know, a lotta people would be surprised," Evan shrugged. "We're searching for naquadah on other planets. Apparently, they use the stuff for pretty much everything. Ship hulls, power sources, things like that."

"Huh. You know, you don't strike me as a geologist type, Major," he remarked abruptly.

"Really? What, then?"

"I dunno. You're just... really outgoing." Dr. Jackson seemed confused by his own statement. Maybe he couldn't figure out why he'd think that geologists wouldn't be extroverts. (To be fair, it was something of a generic stereotype, but most of the scientists at the SGC tended to be at the extreme ends of the spectrum.)

Evan chuckled despite himself. He'd never live this one down if his sister ever found out. Good thing she was hundreds of miles away.

"What?" Dr. Jackson inquired blankly.

"My sister said something like that to me once. She pointed out that I like _people_ a lot more than I like _rocks_." He laughed again, shaking his head in mock deprecation. "Turns out she was right, because I ended up a jet jock, instead. Being a fighter pilot actually involves a lot more personal interaction than most people realize. I learned fast that things go a lot more smoothly when you get along with your back seat man and your ground crew."

"So, if you're a... fighter pilot, why are you with a geology team, then?"

Evan winced as the muscles in his legs started to cramp up slightly - he'd need to do something about that before getting back to bed. The pain wasn't entirely psychosomatic, unfortunately, and he had no desire to wake up completely crippled again. "Training accident," he explained as he shifted his weight a bit uncomfortably. "The inertial dampeners failed during a high-G maneuver, my CSO and I blacked out. By the time we came to, we had nearly hit the ground already. We ejected, but didn't have enough altitude for the chutes to properly deploy, so we came down hard. My CSO got lucky, walked away with only bruises. I, ah, wasn't so lucky."

"I'm sorry. That sounds... complicated," Dr. Jackson replied, his expression apologetically confused.

"Sorry, Dr. Jackson, that probably meant pretty much nothing to you," Evan said, flushing with embarrassment. "Suffice to say, I was hurt pretty badly, but General Hammond knew about my background in geology, so he offered me a spot with SG-11. Though, if I'm lucky, I might get to go back to flying again after my tour."

"I'm guessing that geology isn't your first love." He offered Evan a conciliatory smile. "Maybe I'll see you around, then."

"Probably. I'm stuck here at the SGC for awhile until I'm cleared by Doc Fraiser to go off-world," Evan explained.

"Fraiser... I think I met her earlier. Short woman, about yea high-" he held his hand to chest height, "-and makes everyone really nervous?"

"That's her," Evan laughed. He once overheard someone call her a Napoleonic powermonger, as apt a description of the base's chief medical officer as he'd ever heard. "Anyway... would you mind if I offered you some completely unsolicited advice? Though you can feel free to tell me where to shove it where the sun don't shine, if you like."

Dr. Jackson made a face at Evan's colorful description. "No, no, go ahead, Major."

"I'm no neurologist, but I can guess that it's gotta be frustrating being here with all these strangers who say they know you. Don't let us pressure you to remember. If it's gonna come back, it's gonna come back. This is about _you_, not about _them_," Evan suggested gently.

The other man clutched more tightly at the picture frame in his hand. "Yeah," he sighed, before falling victim to a massive yawn. "Sorry about that," Dr. Jackson apologized.

"No need," Evan waved him off. "It's pretty late, and you _have_ just traveled hundreds of light years across the galaxy. A little jet lag is understandable. I should get some sleep myself." (And be grateful he managed to get some more time on the bars without getting caught, he admitted ruefully. The ache in his legs was worth it.)

"Guess I'll see you around then. Good luck with your..." he gestured vaguely around another yawn, "geological survey."

"Thanks, Doc. And good luck with your... tour." Evan nodded wryly towards the SF lurking by the door. The SF stared blandly back, as if he hadn't been totally listening in to the whole conversation.

"Hey, don't worry, Ross. I still like you," Daniel murmured (not _quite_ inaudibly) as Evan wheeled out the door towards the locker rooms.

"Thank you, sir. Much appreciated," the SF replied.


	11. The Martin Baker Fan Club

**Setting**: During _Stargate: SG-1_ episode 7.03, "Fragile Balance." Colonel O'Neill is kidnapped by the Asgard Loki and replaced with a teenaged clone, causing everyone to mistakenly believe that the colonel has been de-aged. O'Neill had been scheduled to give a briefing to the pilots of the new squadron of F-302s during the period of his abduction.

Had Lorne's 302 training gone according to plan, he would have been part of this squadron.

* * *

Technically, Evan didn't even need to attend this briefing. On paper, he was already assigned to SG-11, and, furthermore, still on the injured list. The crutches reinforced the awareness that he wouldn't be in a cockpit again for awhile yet, if ever. Maybe it was a bit masochistic of him, but he just wanted to be there for the squadron that would have been his.

As Evan gingerly hobbled into the briefing room, his eyes surveyed the pilots milling around. Most of them seemed painfully young, even to him: fighter jocks so new out of flight school that they were still secure in their sense of immortality. (He knew better than that now, only too well.)

These were the men that would make up the first full squadron of F-302s, the Snakeskinners.

"Major Lorne, sir!" a familiar voice called. Evan's heart leaped as he turned his head to see none other than Lieutenant Adam Banks make his way through the crowd. The younger officer looked none the worse for wear since the accident, and now proudly bore a Snakeskinners squadron rocker on the shoulder of his uniform.

"Banks, good to see you," Evan grinned. "You seem to be making out okay without me. I wasn't sure you'd even remember my name!"

Banks smiled cheekily as he came around to stand next to him. "Never gonna happen, sir. Didn't know if you were gonna show up today, but I'm sure glad to see you on your feet."

"What, and miss Colonel O'Neill lecturing these hotshots about dogfighting in a 302? Not on your life, Banks."

"I know what you mean, sir. He sure knows how to make it Army-proof, doesn't he?" Banks snickered.

The colonel's briefing during their 302 training had been as colorful and entertaining as it was informative. Evan had only seen O'Neill in passing since then, and doubted that he'd ever made much of an impression on the SGC's senior exploratory team leader. "Yeah, well, the colonel certainly knows how to own a room when he wants to," Evan noted.

"So, Major, I hear you're a member of the Martin-Baker Fan Club with Banks here," drawled an unfamiliar voice.

Banks winced slightly before plastering on a smile. "Major Lorne, this is Major Warner, our squadron leader."

So. This was the man who replaced him. Evan shifted on his crutches to face a tall man around his own age, though with enough gel in his hair to plaster it solid for a month. He held out his hand for Warner to shake, trying not to lean too heavily on his crutches as he did so. "Martin-Baker doesn't make the ejection system for the 302, Warner," he noted dryly.

"Close enough," Warner snorted. "It's hard luck for you, anyway. You're looking pretty good for it, all things considered. I hear you'll be joining the rock hunters off-world. Bring us back some more naquadah, will ya?"

Evan felt a surge of annoyance at the man; Warner was only commanding this squadron because of a stupid malfunctioning component of the inertial dampener of Evan's F-302, and Warner essentially been playing catch-up with the rest of the squadron. "That's the idea," Evan acknowledged with hard-pressed grace.

"Well, good luck with that, Lorne. Maybe I'll see ya around." With that just-short-of-supercilious farewell, Warner clapped Evan on the shoulder and rejoined the other pilots.

Banks sighed. "He's actually a good CO, sir," the lieutenant advised him staunchly. "It's just a bit of an adjustment after serving under you."

Evan raised an eyebrow at his former CSO. It wasn't entirely clear to him whether Banks meant it earnestly, or was simply sticking up for his new commanding officer. "You saying he's a better pilot than me, Lieutenant?" he teased.

"I, uh, decline to answer the question as it may significantly shorten my life expectancy, sir," Banks retorted, his eyes sparkling with humor. "One thing's for sure, sir: no matter how good a pilot you are, you're definitely _lucky_, too."

"Well, yeah," Evan half snorted, half scoffed. "I could've ended up splattered across a fair-sized stretch of Antarctica. Along with _you_, I might add, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sir - that being said, you get to go to another _planet_ as soon as the docs clear you. Me and most of these guys probably won't see the inside of the SGC again, let alone step through the Gate," Banks pointed out. "And you may be grounded for now, but you'll be back in the air before you know it, sir."

At this point, however, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the person giving their briefing – not Colonel O'Neill, as they expected, but his second in command, Major Carter.

It was something of a surprise: Carter was a fully qualified pilot, of course (she'd apparently flown missions in the Gulf before coming to the SGC), but her true area of expertise lay in far more rarefied field. Evan had heard that there wasn't a bit of alien technology that came through the SGC that didn't first pass through her lab.

(He also wasn't afraid to admit, to himself at least, that she was hot. Really hot. And unlike some guys, he wasn't put off by her genius-level intelligence. It was almost too bad that he'd soon be heading hundreds of light years away.)

All in all, it was a little bit strange that Carter would be giving this briefing, rather than Colonel O'Neill. It was unlikely that the colonel had been called off-world, or else Carter and the rest of SG-1 would have been right there with him. It was possible, of course, that he was ill. Or he could have been summoned to a meeting with political mucky-mucks who didn't care about anyone's schedule but their own, though Evan suspected the colonel would sooner tell them where to shove it.

Lt. Banks shot him a questioning look, jerking his head in Carter's direction. All Evan could offer him was a helpless shrug as he moved towards a seat at the back of the room. Unfortunately, with Sgt. Harriman on leave, the rumor mill on base was sadly slow. No doubt they'd find out what was up at some point...

* * *

**A/N: **A member of the "Martin-Baker Fan Club" is someone who's ejected from an aircraft in an emergency, thereby saving his/her life. Martin-Baker is the company that makes ejection seats for many military aircraft. Lorne points out that he can't strictly speaking be considered a member of this group because the ejection system of the F-302 is not made by Martin-Baker. It's a petty distinction that would normally be ignored.


	12. So Much For First Impressions

**Setting: **Between _Stargate: SG-1_ episodes 7.03, "Fragile Balance" and 7.04, "Orpheus." Episodes are for time reference only.

* * *

Twenty-eight floors above, the sun was setting on Cheyenne Mountain, casting it into deepening shadows. Of course, where Evan was going, that wouldn't matter – apparently, it was the middle of the day on P3X-403. He wasn't sure he was ever going to get used to the time-shifting between the SGC and other planets. Fortunately, he wasn't going alone; SG-12 was going with him to the base camp to relieve SG-2 as the security detachment.

The guys from SG-12 barely seemed to acknowledge him as they waited in the Gateroom; maybe it was because they thought he was just another geologist joining the thus-far unfruitful naquadah survey. Then again, maybe it was because he was a fighter jock. Or maybe they felt uncomfortable because of the cane he leaned on ever-so-slightly. Everyone felt a little awkward when faced with the idea of their own human frailty.

Whatever the reason, it was a question for another time.

As the Gate spun up, Evan adjusted the weight of the pack on his shoulders and silently said his farewells to Earth for the next several months. An unconscious smile crossed his face as the unstable vortex burst forth and settled back into the shimmering "puddle." No matter how many times he saw it, an open wormhole really was an amazing, awe-inspiring sight as the astronomical blue-white energies rippled inside the large ring like so much water.

"First time through the Gate, sir?" Lt. Woeste asked, noticing Evan's expression.

"Huh-? Oh, yeah," he replied distractedly. He absently mused that it was a good thing he wasn't a physicist, else he'd be too consumed with the science to appreciate the sheer beauty of it all.

Woeste and his men shared a knowing chuckle. "It's a hell of a ride, sir, but you won't get there if you don't step through."

Evan glanced over his shoulder at the other men, who were staring back at him with what seemed to be amused impatience. "Oh, right."

_"SG-12, Major Lorne, you have a go,"_ General Hammond said over the PA from the control room. _"Good luck with the survey, and bring us home some naquadah."_

"Yes, sir," Evan acknowledged before turning back to the open wormhole. "Okie-dokie, then," he muttered under his breath. "Here goes nothing." His heart pounding in his chest, he walked firmly up the ramp and stepped through the event horizon without any hesitation.

For the briefest fraction of a moment, he felt like he was falling. Then his boot connected with stone, and he stumbled forward into pale daylight, barely managing to keep from tumbling flat on his face thanks only to his cane stabilizing him.

The first thing Evan became conscious of was the aching, bone-deep chill. Then came the sudden rush of nausea. Fortunately, Evan managed to stagger almost drunkenly off to the side before he lost his dinner completely, vomiting into some undeserving plants. He vaguely heard the rippling sound of SG-12 arriving through the wormhole behind him, and he could feel their eyes on him as he retched into the greenery. Their scrutiny prickled uncomfortably against his back.

"You alright, Major?" Lieutenant Woeste inquired with an air of almost aggrieved tolerance, obviously not too impressed with Evan's performance so far. It was easy for him to be so blasé about the whole experience.

Evan felt like an idiot as he cleaned the foul, acrid taste out of his mouth with water from his canteen. He'd been cautioned not to eat a lot before stepping through the Gate for the first time, but he'd completely forgotten the totally justified warning in his excitement. "Yeah," he replied finally, controlling his muscle spasms as much as he could. "Just peachy."

"Major Lorne, sir."

Evan straightened up on his cane. He hadn't even noticed the young, pointy-faced lieutenant who'd been waiting for them. The green-clad officer stared almost distractedly at him, as if he hadn't even noticed Evan's undignified display. The patch on his shoulder heralded him as a member of SG-11: one of Evan's new teammates. The man saluted him briskly, and Evan returned it with a slight grimace. So much for first impressions, it seemed.

"Welcome to P3X-403, sir. I'm Lieutenant Ritter, SG-11. I'm here to escort you to Base Camp. If you would follow me..."

* * *

Legs aching with the long hike from the Gate, Evan all but sighed with relief when he finally spotted the cheeky hand-carved wooden sign that read "Camp Moria: Beware Cave Trolls." After an early tragic incident involving the System Lord Nirrti, the SGC had elected not to post signs in front of the Gate advertising their presence for anyone who happened to be passing by. That, however, didn't stop some wiseguy from nailing his arts and crafts project to a tree right outside the camp, which was situated in a rocky but sheltered valley that, to Evan's keen eye, was almost certainly a long-extinct riverbed.

The thick surrounding forest wouldn't have been out of place in the Pacific Northwest, though the gray clouds hanging low overhead lent a mournful air to the place.

As Evan and SG-12 drew into camp, they were greeted by an aggrieved-looking officer wearing an SG-2 unit patch and a pinched expression.

"Major Griff," saluted Lieutenant Woeste. "SG-12 is here to relieve you."

"It's about time you guys got here," the older major said, eying Evan without the slightest apparent trace of curiosity once he caught sight of Evan's SG-11 patch. Evan was beginning to get the feeling that there wasn't a ton of respect for the geologists from the front-liners. "We've had a grand old time babysitting here. It's not like we had anything better to do, after all. And of course you show up after we finish moving the camp, leave all the work to us. You'd better have better luck finding naquadah here than at the last two sites." Griff looked impatiently over his shoulder. "Come on, boys, the cavalry's here! Grogan, get your rear in gear so we can get home in time for Christmas!" he shouted.

An harried-looking lieutenant (presumably the unfortunate Grogan) rushed out of one of the tents, struggling to pull on his pack, while two older airmen sauntered over in a far more leisurely fashion. One of them threw SG-12 a jaunty salute as they strolled casually past and up the path towards the Gate.

"Have fun," the major said dryly before following after them. "Grogan, how the hell did you ever make it into the SGC? Damn, I can't wait for a decent cup of coffee..." Evan heard Major Griff continue to complain distantly as SG-2 vanished into the covering trees.

"If you'll follow me," Ritter said, "Colonel Edwards wanted to see you as soon as you arrived." He gestured towards a canopy where two men were engaged in conversation; the younger fellow (one of the geologists, to judge by his jittery demeanor) seemed to be giving bad news to the older man, who was definitely not taking it well.

"Everyone around here in a bad mood?" Evan asked the lieutenant in a low voice.

Lt. Ritter sighed heavily. "I think it's the coffee, sir. It's terrible. We keep telling the SGC we need a new coffee maker, but I don't think they realize how bad the situation is."

"And the fact that we haven't found a significant naquadah deposit worth mining definitely isn't helping tempers, I'd imagine," Evan remarked. There was definitely a miasma of frustration in the air.

"No, sir," Ritter admitted honestly as he turned to precede them to the tent. "Anyway, it's good to have another set of eyes on all this. We're hoping this site will produce better results. This way, sir."

As the they approached the canopy, the timid fellow scurried out past them, shooting Ritter and SG-12 a nervous look. The older officer, whose hair wasn't yet graying but definitely receding from his forehead, heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Ritter," he acknowledged in a rough voice. Presumably, this was Colonel Martin Edwards, the commanding officer of SG-11.

"Sir," the lieutenant replied. "SG-12 has arrived to relieve SG-2. Also, our new TDY from Stargate Command has come with them."

"Major Evan Lorne, sir," Evan introduced himself respectfully.

Colonel Edwards glanced over Woeste and SG-12 before nodding approvingly. "Lieutenant Ritter, show these guys where to stow their gear. Take the major's pack, I want a word with him in private."

"Yes, sir." Ritter accepted the pack from Evan and led SG-12 out, leaving the two of them alone in the tent.

The colonel came out from behind his table to look him up and down appraisingly. Evan had dealt with hard-nosed COs before, and stood up straight against his scrutiny. He felt more than a little self-conscious as his new boss's eyes locked on the cane hanging loosely in his hand despite his aching legs.

"Welcome to P3X-403," Colonel Edwards said finally. "I hear that this is your first time to off-world, Major. First of all, it may _look_ like Earth, but this is _not Earth_. We don't have time to hand-hold greenhorns here, so don't do anything stupid. This is a geology team, not a search-and-rescue team, and our security detachment can only be so many places at once."

"Understood, sir," Evan replied neutrally.

"Also, you may still be recovering from an injury-" Colonel Edwards seemed intent on ignoring the presence of Evan's cane now that he had seen it, instead staring straight into Evan's face. "-but don't expect any coddling out here. This may be a temporary assignment for you, but it's a full-time job for us, Major, so I expect you to take it seriously. We need to find and extract as much naquadah as possible to send back to Earth. It could be the difference between life and death for the folks back home."

"Yes, sir," Evan acknowledged. Despite the colonel's hostile attitude, his statement was accurate enough. One ship and a single squadron of F-302s would not be enough to protect the planet if a full Goa'uld armada showed up knocking at the front door. Earth desperately needed more ships, and more ships meant more naquadah - a lot more. Hyperdrive engines, power cores, seemingly every single bit of advanced technology Earth had co-opted and reverse-engineered required it to function.

Edwards raised a wary eyebrow, as if trying to determine if Evan's agreement was sincere or flippant. "Days here are a bit longer than on Earth. Chow's in about five hours. Find your bunk and catch some sleep before then - you look like crap, Major. Dismissed."

Evan suppressed a sigh. He had his work cut out for him, especially if he didn't want P3X-403 to be his personal antechamber to Purgatory.

* * *

**A/N: **The "early tragic incident" with Nirrti is a reference to the first-season episode "Singularity," in which an SG team and an entire people were wiped out by Nirrti.

All the named characters in this short appeared at one point or another on _SG-1_. Woeste, Ritter, and Edwards all appeared in Lorne's first episode, 7.07 "Enemy Mine." Griff still can't seem to escape babysitting science teams - he was stuck doing the same thing before SG-1 showed up to relieve him in the fourth-season episode "Prodigy." Grogan, despite Major Griff's impatience, had been with the SGC since his first appearance midway through season 5, the episode "Proving Ground."

On a side note, in "Enemy Mine," Colonel Edwards was one of those one-shot characters who really wasn't given a lot to do other than be hostile and uncooperative to our SG-1 heroes. With proper development, it should have become more plain that he wasn't being stiff-necked for the sake of being stiff-necked. He's in charge of a bunch of geologists. The outcome of their mission could mean the difference between life and death for planet Earth, and so far they got squat. He's tired, he's frustrated, he has to deal with idiots who like to wander off solo (Ritter, I'm looking at you!), and then there's the utter lack of a decent cup of coffee...! I'd think that almost everyone would be downright cranky under those circumstances.


	13. Life in the Wide World Goes On

**Setting: **Between _Stargate: SG-1 _episode 7.04, "Orpheus," and 7.07, "Enemy Mine."

* * *

Evan slipped into life on P3X-403 with remarkable ease, surprising even himself. The novelty of living on another planet quickly wore off; P3X-403 was very Earth-like, with only a slight increase in gravity and a couple extra moons that were only sometimes visible. Even the plants and trees looked like anything you could find back home.

Of more importance to him was the possibility that the rest of SG-11 might resent him for showing up the way he did. To his surprise, though, most of them seemed nearly delirious with joy to have an extra set of trained eyes on the job - even those of a laid-up fighter pilot.

Colonel Edwards barked and snapped, repeatedly reminding Evan (and everyone else in earshot) that their grandchildren still wouldn't have enough naquadah to build a warship with the quantities they were finding, but Evan knew that he was merely externalizing the frustration they all felt.

More and more as the weeks passed, though, Evan found Edwards using him as a sort of buffer between him and the rest of his team, even to the point of treating him like a genuine second in command and not just a temp. Maybe because Evan was much more of a people person than Edwards, the colonel began to delegate a lot of the direct handling of the personnel at the camp to Evan.

It was an interesting, even eclectic and occasionally downright eccentric bunch.

Lt. Menard tended to bury himself with the latest mineralogical analyses well into the night, as if he expected to find a naquadah vein through sheer willpower alone. He acted as if everyone thought their current stagnation was his fault, and his timidity only served to annoy Colonel Edwards further. (The colonel might be unsociable, but he was _not_ stupid.)

It took Evan weeks to get Menard just to look at him when he was talking to him, a feat that was only accomplished because of Evan's naturally friendly and unintimidating demeanor.

Less aggravating was Claire Montague; she looked like nothing so much as an oversized pixie, with her dainty figure and enormous eyes. She could easily be mistaken for a child if not for the curves that her plain BDUs did little to hide. For all that, though, she also came equipped with a sharp mind and a sharper tongue. Despite being the only woman in the camp, no one dared approach her with intentions honorable or otherwise; one of Woeste's men learned this the hard way when he made a crude comment about his potential sexual prowess with such a small woman.

Claire, who had been with the Stargate Program for almost a year and had been on this survey mission since the start, was more than capable of dealing with such teenage idiocy.

She looked him up and down and smirked before replying that she would have a better luck finding the elusive naquadah deposits. Furthermore, she mentioned that her mother taught her many things: how to cook the perfect deviled eggs, how to make the best souffle ever, and how to brew a cup of tea which could make a man impotent for… who knows how long?

After that, they steered well clear of her. They got off lucky after a furious sexual harassment lecture delivered by Lt. Woeste. (Teammates or not, hundreds of light-years from home notwithstanding, that sort of behavior would not be tolerated.)

For her part, Claire shrugged and said that she was used to dealing with _children._

Evan was quietly relieved, though, when SG-13 replaced SG-12 after their two-week tour. Colonel Dixon and his men seemed to use the stint as an R&R break from their normal assignment of insanely dangerous front-line exploration. And Dr. Balinsky was also able provide some help pouring through the massive amounts of data that they collected. SG-13 was more than happy to share tales of their adventures out in the galaxy, though Evan suspected there was a lot of storytelling exaggeration on their part.

Then there was Lt. Ritter. The man seemed to be off in his own personal dreamland a lot of the time. He often wandered off on his own away from the camp, probably to avoid Colonel Edwards's bad temper. Ritter's geographical surveys of the surrounding terrain were necessary, of course, and very helpful, but it irked both Edwards and Evan himself when Ritter disappeared off to who knows where.

He always returned to camp in time for chow, fortunately, but sometimes Evan worried that Ritter's absent-minded recklessness would come back to bite him. The scattered traces of naquadah in the surrounding mountains caused electromagnetic interference with the radios and made compasses totally useless.

They hadn't encountered any hostile locals or overly aggressive wildlife thus far, but fog sometimes rolled in unexpectedly, killing any sort of visibility. Without compasses, this made finding your way back to camp extremely difficult, if not downright dangerous.

The only reason that Edwards didn't just send Ritter back to the SGC was that they desperately needed geologists, even those that sometimes wandered off on their own.

Then one morning Evan was reading a letter from his old CSO, Lt. Banks (_Major Warner had apparently been replaced by a new guy, Major Cameron Mitchell, for reasons left rather vague_), when Ritter sauntered into the camp, carrying a strange object over his shoulder. Frowning, Evan set aside his letter.

"Chapter and verse, Lt. Ritter," he asked pointedly.

Lt. Ritter's face didn't lose the self-satisfied expression. "I was surveying out that direction, sir, when I located the entrance to an abandoned mine. Found this right outside." He set the object down on the table; it was a long, thin bar of metal with several nasty-looking prongs on the end. "It's a Goa'uld pain stick, sir."

"Uh-huh. You do know that mines are usually abandoned because there's nothing left to mine, right, Lieutenant?" he pointed out dryly. Nevertheless, his heart pounded with thrill of excitement as he reached out to touch the device's haft. This was the first positive sign so far. If there was the possibility that the Goa'uld hadn't mined everything dry…!

"Sir, with all due respect, the Goa'uld abandon worlds for all sorts of reasons. It's worth checking out," the lieutenant protested.

Evan sighed in a mix of resignation and annoyance. Ritter was right, it was definitely worth exploring, but part of him was extremely frustrated that the man kept going out on his own. The fact that he actually found something potentially significant would not help matters any, either. "Any more leftover artifacts like this?" he asked.

"Yes, sir, there's a ton of stuff lying around," Ritter reported excitedly. "And the entrance isn't all that far. It was pretty overgrown, though, which is why we hadn't spotted it earlier."

Evan rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Lieutenant, this is probably the biggest find since this survey started, but you gotta stop going out on your own."

"Sir," Ritter replied, his eyes shining brightly, "if this is as big as I think it is, I won't _have_ to anymore. We'll have all the naquadah we could hope for."


End file.
